from him; his body would stiffen and his hands clench. If he was angry
the colour in his face would darken and his eyes half close, and it was
then that he did, indeed, seem in the possession of some disastrous
thraldom--but he was angry very seldom, and only with certain people;
for the most part he was a happy child, "as quiet as a mouse." He was
unusual, too, in that he was a very cleanly child, and loved to be
washed, and took the greatest care of his clothes. He was very
affectionate, fond of almost every one, and passionately devoted to his
mother.

Mrs. Slater was a woman with very little imagination. She never
speculated on "how different things would be if they were different,"
nor did she sigh after riches, nor possessions, nor any of the goods
Fate bestows upon her favourites. She would, most certainly, have been
less fond of Henry had he been more like other children, and his
dependence upon her gave her something of the feeling that very rich
ladies have for very small dogs. She was too, in a way, proud. "Never
been able to talk, nor never will, they tell me, the lamb," she would
assure her friends, "but as gentle and as quiet!"

She would sit, sometimes, in the evening before the fire and think of
the old noisy, tiresome days when Henry, Senior, would beat her black
and blue, and would feel that her life had indeed fallen into pleasant
places.

There was nothing whatever in the house, all silent about her and filled
with shrouded furniture, that could alarm her. "Ghosts!" she would cry.
"You show me one, that's all. I'll give you ghosts!"

Her digestion was excellent, her sleep undisturbed by conscience or